The    Mansion 


BUT       HOW       HAVE      I       FAILED      SO      WRETCHEDLY? 


THE  MANSION 


BY 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ELIZABETH  SHIPPEN  GREEN 


HARPER  £r  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON  .  M  .  C  .  M  •  X  •  I 


COPYRIGHT.    1910,     1911.    BY    HARPER    ft    BROTHERS 

PRINTED    IN    THE     UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    OCTOBER      1911 


The  Mansion 


HERE  was  an  air  of  calm 
and  reserved  opulence  about 
the  Weightman  mansion  that 
spoke  not  of  money  squan 
dered,  but  of  wealth  prudently  applied. 
Standing  on  a  corner  of  the  Avenue  no 
longer  fashionable  for  residence,  it  looked 

upon  the  swelling  tide  of  business  with 

t*~gj 

an  expression  of  complacency  and  half- 
disdain. 

The  house  was  not  beautiful.    There  was 
\ 


THE    MANSION 

nothing  in  its  straight  front  of  chocolate- 
colored  stone,  its  heavy  cornices,  its  broad, 
staring  windows  of  plate  glass,  its  carved 
and  bronze-bedecked  mahogany  doors  at 
the  top  of  the  wide  stoop,  to  charm  the  eye 
or  fascinate  the  imagination.  But  it  was 
eminently  respectable,  and  in  its  way  im 
posing.  It  seemed  to  say  that  the  glittering 
shops  of  the  jewelers,  the  milliners,  the  con 
fectioners,  the  florists,  the  picture-dealers, 
the  furriers,  the  makers  of  rare  and  costly 
antiquities,  retail  traders  in  luxuries  of  life, 
were  beneath  the  notice  of  a  house  that  had 
its  foundations  in  the  high  finance,  and  was 
built  literally  and  figuratively  in  the  shadow 
of  St.  Petronius'  Church. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  something 
self-pleased  and  congratulatory  in  the  way 
in  which  the  mansion  held  its  own  amid  the 
changing  neighborhood.  It  almost  seemed 
to  be  lifted  up  a  little,  among  the  tall  build- 
2 


THE    MANSION 

ings  near  at  hand,  as  if  it  felt  the  rising 
value  of  the  land  on  which  it  stood. 

John  Weightman  was  like  the  house  into 
which  he  had  built  himself  thirty  years  ago, 
and  in  which  his  ideals  and  ambitions  were 
incrusted.  He  was  a  self-made  man.  But 
in  making  himself  he  had  chosen  a  highly 
esteemed  pattern  and  worked  according  to 
the  approved  rules.  There  was  nothing  ir 
regular,  questionable,  flamboyant  about 
him.  He  was  solid,  correct,  and  justly 
successful. 

His  minor  tastes,  of  course,  had  been 
carefully  kept  up  to  date.  At  the  proper 
time,  pictures  by  the  Barbizon  masters, 
old  English  plate  and  portraits,  bronzes  by 
Barye  and  marbles  by  Rodin,  Persian  car 
pets  and  Chinese  porcelains,  had  been  in 
troduced  to  the  mansion.  It  contained  a 
Louis  Quinze  reception-room,  an  Empire 
drawing-room,  a  Jacobean  dining-room, 
3 


and  various  apartments  dimly  reminiscent 
of  the  styles  of  furniture  affected  by  de 
ceased  monarchs.  That  the  hallways  were 
too  short  for  the  historic  perspective  did 
not  make  much  difference.  American  deco 
rative  art  is  capable  de  tout,  it  absorbs  all 
periods.  Of  each  period  Mr.  Weightman 
wished  to  have  something  of  the  best.  He 
understood  its  value,  present  as  a  certifi 
cate,  and  prospective  as  an  investment. 

It  was  only  in  the  architecture  of  his 
town  house  that  he  remained  conservative, 
immovable,  one  might  almost  say  Early- 
Victorian-Christian.  His  country  house  at 
DuIwich-on-the-Sound  was  a  palace  of  the 
Italian  Renaissance.  But  in  town  he  ad 
hered  to  an  architecture  which  had  moral 
associations,  the  Nineteenth  -  Century- 
Brownstone  epoch.  It  was  a  symbol  of  his 
social  position,  his  religious  doctrine,  and 
even,  in  a  way,  of  his  business  creed. 
4 


THE    MANSION 


"  A  man  of  fixed  principles/'  he  would 
say,  "  should  express  them  in  the  looks  of 
his  house.  New  York  changes  its  domestic 
architecture  too  rapidly.  It  is  like  divorce. 
It  is  not  dignified.  I  don't  like  it.  Ex 
travagance  and  fickleness  are  advertised  in 
most  of  these  new  houses.  I  wish  to  be 
known  for  different  qualities.  Dignity  and 
prudence  are  the  things  that  people  trust. 
Every  one  knows  that  I  can  afford  to  live 
in  the  house  that  suits  me.  It  is  a  guarantee 
to  the  public.  It  inspires  confidence.  It 
helps  my  influence.  There  is  a  text  in  the 
Bible  about  'a  house  that  hath  foundations.' 
That  is  the  proper  kind  of  a  mansion  for  a 
solid  man." 

Harold  Weightman  had  often  listened  to 
his  father  discoursing  in  this  fashion  on  the 
fundamental  principles  of  life,  and  always 
with  a  divided  mind.  He  admired  im 
mensely  his  father's  talents  and  the  single- 
5 


THE    MANSION 

minded  energy  with  which  he  improved 
them.  But  in  the  paternal  philosophy  there 
was  something  that  disquieted  and  op 
pressed  the  young  man,  and  made  him  gasp 
inwardly  for  fresh  air  and  free  action* 

At  times,  during  his  college  course  and 
his  years  at  the  law  school,  he  had  yielded 
to  this  impulse  and  broken  away — now 
toward  extravagance  and  dissipation,  and 
then,  when  the  reaction  came,  toward  a 
romantic  devotion  to  work  among  the  poor. 
He  had  felt  his  father's  disapproval  for  both 
of  these  forms  of  imprudence;  but  it  was 
never  expressed  in  a  harsh  or  violent  way, 
always  with  a  certain  tolerant  patience, 
such  as  one  might  show  for  the  mistakes 
and  vagaries  of  the  very  young.  John 
Weightman  was  not  hasty,  impulsive,  in 
considerate,  even  toward  his  own  children. 
With  them,  as  with  the  rest  of  the  world, 
he  felt  that  he  had  a  reputation  to  main- 
6 


THE    MANSION 

tain,  a  theory  to  vindicate.  He  could  af 
ford  to  give  them  time  to  see  that  he  was 
absolutely  right. 

One  of  his  favorite  Scripture  quotations 
was,  "  Wait  on  the  Lord."  He  had  applied 
it  to  real  estate  and  to  people,  with  profit 
able  results. 

But  to  human  persons  the  sensation  of 
being  waited  for  is  not  always  agreeable. 
Sometimes,  especially  with  the  young,  it 
produces  a  vague  restlessness,  a  dumb  re 
sentment,  which  is  increased  by  the  fact 
that  one  can  hardly  explain  or  justify  it. 
Of  this  John  Weightman  was  not  conscious. 
It  lay  beyond  his  horizon.  He  did  not  take 
it  into  account  in  the  plan  of  life  which  he 
made  for  himself  and  for  his  family  as  the 
sharers  and  inheritors  of  his  success. 

"  Father   plays   us,"   said   Harold,   in   a 
moment  of  irritation,  to  his  mother,  "  like 
pieces  in  a  game  of  chess." 
7 


44  My  dear/'  said  that  lady,  whose  faith 
in  her  husband  was  religious,  "  you  ought 
not  to  speak  so  impatiently.  At  least  he 
wins  the  game.  He  is  one  of  the  most 
respected  men  in  New  York.  And  he  is 
very  generous,  too." 

44 1  wish  he  would  be  more  generous  in 
letting  us  be  ourselves,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  He  always  has  something  in  view 
for  us  and  expects  to  move  us  up  to  it." 

"  But  isn't  it  always  for  our  benefit?" 
replied  his  mother.  "Look  what  a  position 
we  have.  No  one  can  say  there  is  any  taint 
on  our  money.  There  are  no  rumors  about 
your  father.  He  has  kept  the  laws  of  God 
and  of  man.  He  has  never  made  any  mis 
takes." 

Harold  got  up  from  his  chair  and  poked 

the  fire.     Then  he  came  back  to  the  ample, 

well -gowned,  firm -looking   lady,  and   sat 

beside  her  on  the  sofa.    He  took  her  hand 

8 


THE    MANSION 

gently  and  looked  at  the  two  rings — a  thin 
band  of  yellow  gold,  and  a  small  solitaire 
diamond — which  kept  their  place  on  her 
third  finger  in  modest  dignity,  as  if  not 
shamed,  but  rather  justified,  by  the  splendor 
of  the  emerald  which  glittered  beside  them. 

44  Mother,"  he  said,  "  you  have  a  won 
derful  hand.  And  father  made  no  mis 
take  when  he  won  you.  But  are  you  sure 
he  has  always  been  so  inerrant  ?" 

"  Harold/'  she  exclaimed,  a  little  stiffly, 
"  what  do  you  mean?  His  life  is  an  open 
book." 

44  Oh,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  mean 
anything  bad,  mother  dear.  I  know  the 
governor's  life  is  an  open  book — a  ledger, 
if  you  like,  kept  in  the  best  bookkeeping 
hand,  and  always  ready  for  inspection — 
every  page  correct,  and  showing  a  hand 
some  balance.  But  isn't  it  a  mistake  not 
to  allow  us  to  make  our  own  mistakes,  to 
9 


THE   MANSION 

learn  for  ourselves,  to  live  our  own  lives? 
Must  we  be  always  working  for  'the  bal 
ance/  in  one  thing  or  another?  I  want  to 
be  myself — to  get  outside  of  this  everlast 
ing,  profitable  '  plan  ' — to  let  myself  go, 
and  lose  myself  for  a  while  at  least — to  do 
the  things  that  I  want  to  do,  just  because 
I  want  to  do  them." 

44  My  boy,"  said  his  mother,  anxiously, 
"  you  are  not  going  to  do  anything  wrong 
or  foolish?  You  know  the  falsehood  of 
that  old  proverb  about  wild  oats." 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 
:<  Yes,  mother,"  he  answered,  "  I  know  it 
well  enough.  But  in  California,  you 
know,  the  wild  oats  are  one  of  the  most 
valuable  crops.  They  grow  all  over  the 
hillsides  and  keep  the  cattle  and  the  horses 
alive.  But  that  wasn't  what  I  meant — 
to  sow  wild  oats.  Say  to  pick  wild  flowers, 
if  you  like,  or  even  to  chase  wild  geese — to 
JO 


THE   MANSION 

do  something  that  seems  good  to  me  just 
for  its  own  sake,  not  for  the  sake  of  wages 
of  one  kind  or  another.  I  feel  like  a  hired 
man,  in  the  service  of  this  magnificent 
mansion — say  in  training  for  father's  place 
as  majordomo.  I'd  like  to  get  out  some 
way,  to  feel  free — perhaps  to  do  something 
for  others." 

The  young  man's  voice  hesitated  a  little. 

'  Yes,   it   sounds   like   cant,   I   know,   but 

sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  do  some 

good  in  the  world,  if  father  only  wouldn't 

insist  upon  God's  putting  it  into  the  ledger." 

His  mother  moved  uneasily,  and  a  slight 
look  of  bewilderment  came  into  her  face. 

44  Isn't  that  almost  irreverent  ?"  she 
asked.  "  Surely  the  righteous  must  have 
their  reward.  And  your  father  is  good. 
See  how  much  he  gives  to  all  the  estab 
lished  charities,  how  many  things  he  has 

founded.    He's  always  thinking  of  others, 
II 


THE   MANSION 

and  planning  for  them.  And  surely,  for 
us,  he  does  everything.  How  well  he  has 
planned  this  trip  to  Europe  for  me  and 
the  girls — the  court-presentation  at  Berlin, 
the  season  on  the  Riviera,  the  visits  in 
England  with  the  Plumptons  and  the  Hal- 
verstones.  He  says  Lord  Halverstone  has 
the  finest  old  house  in  Sussex,  pure  Eliza 
bethan,  and  all  the  old  customs  are  kept  up, 
too — family  prayers  every  morning  for  all 
the  domestics.  By-the-wayt  you  know  his 
son  Bertie,  I  believe." 

Harold  smiled  a  little  to  himself  as  he 
answered:  "  Yes,  I  fished  at  Catalina  Island 
last  June  with  the  Honorable  Ethelbert; 
he's  rather  a  decent  chap,  in  spite  of  his  in 
growing  mind.  But  you? — mother,  you 
are  simply  magnificent!  You  are  father's 
masterpiece."  The  young  man  leaned  over 
to  kiss  her,  and  went  up  to  the  Riding  Club 

for  his  afternoon  canter  in  the  Park. 
12 


THE    MANSION 

So  it  came  to  pass,  early  in  December, 
that  Mrs.  Weightman  and  her  two  daugh 
ters  sailed  for  Europe,  on  their  serious 
pleasure  trip,  even  as  it  had  been  written 
in  the  book  of  Providence;  and  John  Weight 
man,  who  had  made  the  entry,  was  left  to 
pass  the  rest  of  the  winter  with  his  son  and 
heir  in  the  brownstone  mansion. 

They  were  comfortable  enough.  The 
machinery  of  the  massive  establishment 
ran  as  smoothly  as  a  great  electric  dynamo. 
They  were  busy  enough,  too.  John  Weight- 
man's  plans  and  enterprises  were  compli 
cated,  though  his  principle  of  action  was 
always  simple — to  get  good  value  for  every 
expenditure  and  effort.  The  banking-house 
of  which  he  was  the  chief,  the  brain,  the  will, 
the  absolutely  controlling  hand,  was  so  ad 
mirably  organized  that  the  details  of  its 
direction  took  but  little  time.  But  the 
scores  of  other  interests  that  radiated  from 
13 


THE   MANSION 

it  and  were  dependent  upon  it — or  perhaps 
it  would  be  more  accurate  to  say,  that  con 
tributed  to  its  solidity  and  success — the 
many  investments,  industrial,  political,  be 
nevolent,  reformatory,  ecclesiastical,  that 
had  made  the  name  of  Weightman  well 
known  and  potent  in  city,  church,  and 
state,  demanded  much  attention  and  careful 
steering,  in  order  that  each  might  produce 
the  desired  result.  There  were  board  meet 
ings  of  corporations  and  hospitals,  con 
ferences  in  Wall  Street  and  at  Albany, 
consultations  and  committee  meetings  in 
the  brownstone  mansion. 

For  a  share  in  all  this  business  and  its 
adjuncts  John  Weightman  had  his  son  in 
training  in  one  of  the  famous  law  firms 
of  the  city;  for  he  held  that  banking  itself 
is  a  simple  affair,  the  only  real  difficulties 
of  finance  are  on  its  legal  side.  Meantime 

he  wished  the  young  man  to  meet  and  know 
14 


THE    MANSION 

the  men  with  whom  he  would  have  to  deal 
when  he  became  a  partner  in  the  house. 
So  a  couple  of  dinners  were  given  in  the 
mansion  during  December,  after  which  the 
father  called  the  son's  attention  to  the  fact 
that  over  a  hundred  million  dollars  had  sat 
around  the  board. 

But  on  Christmas  Eve  father  and  son 
were  dining  together  without  guests,  and 
their  talk  across  the  broad  table,  glittering 
with  silver  and  cut  glass,  and  softly  lit  by 
shaded  candles,  was  intimate,  though  a 
little  slow  at  times.  The  elder  man  was 
in  rather  a  rare  mood,  more  expansive  and 
confidential  than  usual;  and,  when  the 
coffee  was  brought  in  and  they  were  left 
alone,  he  talked  more  freely  of  his  personal 
plans  and  hopes  than  he  had  ever  done 
before* 

"  I  feel  very  grateful  to-night,"  said 
he,  at  last;  "  it  must  be  something  in  the 
2  J5 


THE    MANSION 

air  of  Christmas  that  gives  me  this  feeling 
of  thankfulness  for  the  many  divine  mercies 
that  have  been  bestowed  upon  me*  Ail  the 
principles  by  which  I  have  tried  to  guide 
my  life  have  been  justified.  I  have  never 
made  the  value  of  this  salted  almond  by 
anything  that  the  courts  would  not  uphold, 
at  least  in  the  long  run,  and  yet — or  wouldn't 
it  be  truer  to  say  and  therefore  ? — my  affairs 
have  been  wonderfully  prospered.  There's 
a  great  deal  in  that  text  4  Honesty  is  the 
best ' — but  no,  that's  not  from  the  Bible, 
after  all,  is  it?  Wait  a  moment;  there  is 
something  of  that  kind,  I  know." 

44  May  I  light  a  cigar,  father,"  said  Har 
old,  turning  away  to  hide  a  smile,  44  while 
you  are  remembering  the  text  ?" 

'*  Yes,    certainly,"     answered    the    elder 

man,  rather  shortly;    "  you  know  I  don't 

dislike   the   smell.    But   it   is   a   wasteful, 

useless  habit,  and  therefore  I  have  never 

16 


THE    MANSION 

practised  it.  Nothing  useless  is  worth 
while,  that's  mv  motto — nothing  that  does 
not  bring  the  reward.  Oh,  now  I  recall 
the  text, /'verily  \  say  tmto  you  they  have 
their  reward./'!  shall  ask  Doctor  Snod- 
grass  to  preach  a  sermon  on  that  verse 
some  day/' 

"  Using  you  as  an  illustration?" 
"  Well,  not  exactly  that;  but  I  could 
give  him  some  good  material  from  my  own 
experience  to  prove  the  truth  of  Scripture. 
I  can  honestly  say  that  there  is  not  one  of 
my  charities  that  has  not  brought  me  in  a 
good  return,  either  in  the  increase  of  in 
fluence,  the  building  up  of  credit,  or  the 
association  with  substantial  people.  Of 
course  you  have  to  be  careful  how  you  give, 
in  order  to  secure  the  best  results — no  indis 
criminate  giving — no  pennies  in  beggars' 
hats  I  It  has  been  one  of  my  principles 

always  to  use  the  same  kind  of  judgment  in 
17 


THE   MANSION 

charities  that  I  use  in  my  other  affairs,  and 
they  have  not  disappointed  me." 

"  Even  the  check  that  you  put  in  the 
plate  when  you  take  the  offertory  up  the 
aisle  on  Sunday  morning  ?" 

"  Certainly;  though  there  the  influence 
is  less  direct;  and  I  must  confess  that  I 
have  my  doubts  in  regard  to  the  collection 
for  Foreign  Missions.  That  always  seems 
to  me  romantic  and  wasteful.  You  never 
hear  from  it  in  any  definite  way.  They 
say  the  missionaries  have  done  a  good  deal 
to  open  the  way  for  trade;  perhaps — but 
they  have  also  gotten  us  into  commercial 
and  political  difficulties.  Yet  I  give  to 
them — a  little — it  is  a  matter  of  conscience 
with  me  to  identify  myself  with  all  the  enter 
prises  of  the  Church;  it  is  the  mainstay  of 
social  order  and  a  prosperous  civilization. 
But  the  best  forms  of  benevolence  are  the 
well  -  established,  organized  ones  here  at 
18 


THE    MANSION 

home,  where  people  can  see  them  and  know 
what  they  are  doing." 

14  You  mean  the  ones  that  have  a  local 
habitation  and  a  name/' 

"  Yes;  they  offer  by  far  the  safest  return, 
though  of  course  there  is  something  gained 
by  contributing  to  general  funds.  A  public 
man  can't  afford  to  be  without  public  spirit. 
But  on  the  whole  I  prefer  a  building,  or  an 
endowment.  There  is  a  mutual  advantage 
to  a  good  name  and  a  good  institution  in 
their  connection  in  the  public  mind.  It 
helps  them  both.  Remember  that,  my 
boy.  Of  course  at  the  beginning  you  will 
have  to  practise  it  in  a  small  way;  later, 
you  will  have  larger  opportunities.  But 
try  to  put  your  gifts  where  they  can  be 
identified  and  do  good  all  around.  You'll 
see  the  wisdom  of  it  in  the  long  run." 

"  I  can  see  it  already,  sir,  and  the  way 
you  describe  it  looks  amazingly  wise  and 
J9 


THE   MANSION 

prudent.  In  other  words,  we  must  cast 
our  bread  on  the  waters  in  large  loaves, 
carried  by  sotmd  ships  marked  with  the 
owner's  name,  so  that  the  return  freight  will 
be  sure  to  come  back  to  us/' 

The  father  laughed,  but  his  eyes  were 
frowning  a  little  as  if  he  suspected  some 
thing  irreverent  under  the  respectful  reply. 

'*  You  put  it  humorously,  but  there's 
sense  in  what  you  say.  Why  not?  God 
rules  the  sea;  but  He  expects  us  to  follow 
the  laws  of  navigation  and  commerce.  Why 
not  take  good  care  of  your  bread,  even  when 
you  give  it  away?" 

"  It's  not  for  me  to  say  why  not — and  yet 
I  can  think  of  cases —  The  young  man 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  His  half-finished 
cigar  had  gone  out.  He  rose  and  tossed  it 
into  the  fire,  in  front  of  which  he  remained 
standing — a  slender,  eager,  restless  young 
figure,  with  a  touch  of  hunger  in  the  fine 
20 


THE    MANSION 

facet  strangely  like  and  unlike  the  father,  at 
whom  he  looked  with  half-wistful  cariosity. 

(<  The  fact  is,  sir/'  he  continued,  "  there 
is  such  a  case  in  my  mind  now,  and  it 
is  a  good  deal  on  my  heart,  too.  So  I 
thought  of  speaking  to  you  about  it  to-night, 
remember  Tom  Rollins,  the  Junior  who 
was  so  good  to  me  when  I  entered  college?^. 

The  father  nodded.  He  remembered  very 
well  indeed  the  annoying  incidents  of  his 
son's  first  escapade,  and  how  Rollins  had 
stood  by  him  and  helped  to  avoid  a  public 
disgrace,  and  how  a  close  friendship  had 
grown  between  the  two  boys,  so  different 
in  their  fortunes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  remember  him.  He 
was  a  promising  young  man.  Has  he  suc 
ceeded?" 

"  Not  exactly  —  that  is,  not  yet.  His 
business  has  been  going  rather  badly.  He 

has  a  wife  and  little  baby,  you  know.    And 
21 


THE   MANSION 

now  he  has  broken  down, — something  wrong 
with  his  lungs.     The  doctor  says  his  only 
chance  is  a  year  or  eighteen  months  in  Colo 
rado.     I  wish  we  could  help  him." 
41  How  much  would  it  cost?" 
'*  Three   or   four   thousand,  perhaps,   as 
a  loan." 

"  Does  the  doctor  say  he  will  get  well?" 
44  A  fighting  chance — the  doctor  says." 
The  face  of  the  older  man  changed  subtly. 
Not  a  line  was  altered,  but  it  seemed  to  have 
a  different  substance,  as  if  it  were  carved  out 
of  some  firm,  imperishable  stuff. 

"  A  fighting  chance,"  he  said,  "may  do 
for  a  speculation,  but  it  is  not  a  good  invest 
ment.  You  owe  something  to  young  Rollins. 
Your  grateful  feeling  does  you  credit.  But 
don't  overwork  it.  Send  him  three  or  four 
hundred,  if  you  like.  You'll  never  hear  from 
it  again,  except  in  the  letter  of  thanks.  But 
for  Heaven's  sake  don't  be  sentimental, 
22 


"It  is  not  a  good   investment  " 


Religion  is  not  a  matter  of  sentiment;  it's  a 
matter  of  principle/' 

The  face  of  the  younger  man  changed 
now.  But  instead  of  becoming  fixed  and 
graven,  it  seemed  to  melt  into  life  by  the 
heat  of  an  inward  fire.  His  nostrils  quivered 
with  quick  breath,  his  lips  were  curled. 

"  Principle!"  he  said.  "  You  mean  prin 
cipal — and  interest  too.  Well,  sir,  you 
23 


THE   MANSION 

know  best  whether  that  is  religion  or  not. 
But  if  it  is,  count  me  out,  please.  Tom 
saved  me  from  going  to  the  devil,  six  years 
ago;  and  I'll  be  damned  if  I  don't  help  him 
to  the  best  of  my  ability  now." 

John  Weightman  looked  at  his  son  stead 
ily.  "  Harold,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you 
know  I  dislike  violent  language,  and  it 
never  has  any  influence  with  me.  If  I 
could  honestly  approve  of  this  proposition 
of  yours,  I'd  let  you  have  the  money;  but  I 
can't;  it's  extravagant  and  useless.  But 
you  have  your  Christmas  check  for  a  thou 
sand  dollars  coming  to  you  to-morrow.  You 
can  use  it  as  you  please.  I  never  interfere 
with  your  private  affairs." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Harold.  "Thank 
you  very  much!  But  there's  another  pri 
vate  affair.  I  want  to  get  away  from  this 
life,  this  town,  this  house.  It  stifles  me. 
You  refused  last  summer  when  I  asked  you 

24 


THE    MANSION 

to  let  me  go  up  to  Grenfell's  Mission  on  the 
Labrador.  I  could  go  now,  at  least  as  far 
as  the  Newfoundland  Station.  Have  you 
changed  your  mind?" 

44  Not  at  all.  I  think  it  is  an  exceedingly 
foolish  enterprise.  It  would  interrupt  the 
career  that  I  have  marked  out  for  you." 

'*  Well,  then,  here's  a  cheaper  proposition. 
Algy  Vanderhoof  wants  me  to  join  him  on 
his  yacht  with — well,  with  a  little  party — 
to  cruise  in  the  West  Indies.  Would  you 
prefer  that?" 

44  Certainly  not!  The  Vanderhoof  set 
is  wild  and  godless — I  do  not  wish  to  see 
you  keeping  company  with  fools  who  walk 
in  the  broad  and  easy  way  that  leads  to 
perdition." 

**  It  is  rather  a  hard  choice,"    said  the 

young  man,  with  a  short   laugh,   turning 

toward    the    door.    "  According    to    you 

there's  very  little  difference — a  fool's  para- 

25 


THE    MANSION 

dise  or  a  fool's  hell!  Well,  it's  one  or  the 
other  for  me,  and  I'll  toss  up  for  it  to-night: 
heads,  I  lose;  tails,  the  devil  wins*  Any 
way,  I'm  sick  of  this,  and  I'm  out  of 
it." 

"  Harold,"  said  the  older  man  (and  there 
was  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice),  "  don't  let 
tis  quarrel  on  Christmas  Eve.  All  I  want 
is  to  persuade  you  to  think  seriously  of  the 
duties  and  responsibilities  to  which  God  has 
called  you — don't  speak  lightly  of  heaven 
and  hell — remember,  there  is  another  life." 

The  young  man  came  back  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  father's  shoulder. 

44  Father,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  remember 
it.  I  try  to  believe  in  it.  But  somehow 
or  other,  in  this  house,  it  all  seems  unreal 
to  me.  No  doubt  all  you  say  is  perfectly 
right  and  wise.  I  don't  venture  to  argue 
against  it,  but  I  can't  feel  it — that's  all. 
If  I'm  to  have  a  soul,  either  to  lose  or  to 
26 


THE   MANSION 

save,  I  must  really  live.  Just  now  neither 
the  present  nor  the  future  means  anything 
to  me.  But  surely  we  won't  quarrel.  I'm 
very  grateful  to  you,  and  we'll  part  friends. 
Good-night,  sir." 

The  father  held  out  his  hand  in  silence. 
The  heavy  portiere  dropped  noiselessly  be 
hind  the  son,  and  he  went  up  the  widet 
curving  stairway  to  his  own  room. 

Meantime  John  Weightman  sat  in  his 
carved  chair  in  the  Jacobean  dining-room. 
He  felt  strangely  old  and  dull.  The  por 
traits  of  beautiful  women  by  Lawrence  and 
Reynolds  and  Raeburn,  which  had  often 
seemed  like  real  company  to  him,  looked 
remote  and  uninteresting.  He  fancied  some 
thing  cold  and  almost  unfriendly  in  their 
expression,  as  if  they  were  staring  through 
him  or  beyond  him.  They  cared  nothing 
for  his  principles,  his  hopes,  his  disappoint 
ments,  his  successes;  they  belonged  to  an- 
27 


THE   MANSION 

other  world,  in  which  he  had  no  place.  At 
this  he  felt  a  vague  resentment,  a  sense  of 
discomfort  that  he  could  not  have  defined 
or  explained.  He  was  used  to  being  con 
sidered,  respected,  appreciated  at  his  full 
value  in  every  region,  even  in  that  of  his 
own  dreams. 

Presently  he  rang  for  the  butler,  telling 
him  to  close  the  house  and  not  to  sit  up,  and 
walked  with  lagging  steps  into  the  long 
library,  where  the  shaded  lamps  were  burn 
ing.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  low  shelves  full 
of  costly  books,  but  he  had  no  desire  to 
open  them.  Even  the  carefully  chosen 
pictures  that  hung  above  them  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  attraction.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  before  an  idyll  of  Corot — a  dance 
of  nymphs  around  some  forgotten  altar  in  a 
vaporous  glade — and  looked  at  it  curiously. 
There  was  something  rapturous  and  serene 
about  the  picture,  a  breath  of  spring-time 
28 


THE   MANSION 

in  the  misty  trees,  a  harmony  of  joy  in  the 
dancing  figures,  that  wakened  in  him  a 
feeling  of  half-pleasure  and  half-envy.  It 
represented  something  that  he  had  never 
known  in  his  calculated,  orderly  life.  He 
was  dimly  mistrustful  of  it. 

44  It  is  certainly  very  beautiful,"  he 
thought,  "  but  it  is  distinctly  pagan;  that 
altar  is  built  to  some  heathen  god.  It  does 
not  fit  into  the  scheme  of  a  Christian  life.  I 
doubt  whether  it  is  consistent  with  the  tone 
of  my  house.  I  will  sell  it  this  winter.  It 
will  bring  three  or  four  times  what  I  paid  for 
it.  That  was  a  good  purchase,  a  very  good 
bargain." 

He  dropped  into  the  revolving  chair  be 
fore  his  big  library  table.  It  was  covered 
with  pamphlets  and  reports  of  the  various 
enterprises  in  which  he  was  interested. 
There  was  a  pile  of  newspaper  clippings  in 
which  his  name  was  mentioned  with  praise 
29 


THE   MANSION 

for  his  sustaining  power  as  a  pillar  of  finance, 
for  his  judicious  benevolence,  for  his  support 
of  wise  and  prudent  reform  movements,  for 
his  discretion  in  making  permanent  public 
gifts — "  the  Weightman  Charities,"  one 
very  complaisant  editor  called  them,  as  if 
they  deserved  classification  as  a  distinct 
species. 

He  turned  the  papers  over  listlessly. 
There  was  a  description  and  a  picture  of 
the  "Weightman  "Wing  of  the  Hospital  for 
Cripples/'  of  which  he  was  president;  and 
an  article  on  the  new  professor  in  the 
'*  Weightman  Chair  of  Political  Jurispru 
dence  "  in  Jackson  University,  of  which  he 
was  a  trustee;  and  an  illustrated  account 
of  the  opening  of  the  "Weightman  Gram 
mar-School  "  at  Dulwich  -  on  -  the  -  Sound, 
where  he  had  his  legal  residence  for  purposes 
of  taxation. 

This  last  was  perhaps  the  most  carefully 
30 


THE   MANSION 

planned  of  all  the  Weightman  Charities. 
He  desired  to  win  the  confidence  and  support 
of  his  rural  neighbors.  It  had  pleased  him 
much  when  the  local  newspaper  had  spoken 
of  him  as  an  ideal  citizen  and  the  logical 
candidate  for  the  Governorship  of  the  State; 
bat  upon  the  whole  it  seemed  to  him  wiser 
to  keep  out  of  active  politics.  It  would  be 
easier  and  better  to  put  Harold  into  the 
running,  to  have  him  sent  to  the  Legislature 
from  the  Dulwich  district,  then  to  the 
national  House,  then  to  the  Senate.  Why 
not?  The  Weightman  interests  were  large 
enough  to  need  a  direct  representative  and 
guardian  at  Washington. 

But  to-night  all  these  plans  came  back 
to  him  with  dust  upon  them.  They  were 
dry  and  crumbling  like  forsaken  habitations. 
The  son  upon  whom  his  complacent  ambi 
tion  had  rested  had  turned  his  back  upon 
the  mansion  of  his  father's  hopes.  The  break 

3  3J 


THE   MANSION 

might  not  be  final;  and  in  any  event  there 
would  be  much  to  live  for;  the  fortunes  of 
the  family  would  be  secure.  But  the  zest 
of  it  all  would  be  gone  if  John  Weightman 
had  to  give  up  the  assurance  of  perpetuating 
his  name  and  his  principles  in  his  son.  It 
was  a  bitter  disappointment,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  not  deserved  it. 

He  rose  from  the  chair  and  paced  the 
room  with  leaden  feet.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  his  age  was  visibly  upon  him.  His 
head  was  heavy  and  hot,  and  the  thoughts 
that  rolled  in  it  were  confused  and  depress 
ing.  Could  it  be  that  he  had  made  a  mis 
take  in  the  principles  of  his  existence? 
There  was  no  argument  in  what  Harold  had 
said — it  was  almost  childish — and  yet  it  had 
shaken  the  elder  man  more  deeply  than  he 
cared  to  show.  It  held  a  silent  attack  which 
touched  him  more  than  open  criticism. 

Suppose  the  end  of  his  life  were  nearer 
32 


THE   MANSION 

than  he  thought  —  the  end  must  come  some 
time  —  what  if  it  were  now?  Had  he  not 
founded  his  house  upon  a  rock?  Had  he 
not  kept  the  Commandments?  Was  he  not, 
"  touching  the  law,  blameless  "  ?  And  be 
yond  this,  even  if  there  were  some  faults  in 
his  character  —  and  all  men  are  sinners  —  yet 
he  surely  believed  in  the  saving  doctrines 
of  religion  —  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  the 
resurrection  of  the  body,  the  life  everlasting. 
Yes,  that  was  the  true  source  of  comfort, 
after  all.  He  would  read  a  bit  in  the  Bible, 
as  he  did  every  night,  and  go  to  bed  and  to 
sleep. 

He  went  back  to  his  chair  at  the  library 
table.  A  strange  weight  of  weariness  rested 
upon  him,  but  he  opened  the  book  at  a 
familiar  place,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
verse  at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

"Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures  upon 


33 


THE   MANSION 

That  had  been  the  text  of  the  sermon  a 
few  weeks  before.  Sleepily,  heavily,  he 
tried  to  fix  his  mind  upon  it  and  recall  it. 
What  was  it  that  Doctor  Snodgrass  had 
said?  Ah,  yes — that  it  was  a  mistake  to 
pause  here  in  reading  the  verse.  We  must 
read  on  without  a  pause — Lay  not  up  treas 
ures  upon  earth  where  moth  and  rust  do  cor 
rupt  and  l&here  thieves  break  through  and 
steal — that  was  the  true  doctrine.  We  may 
have  treasures  upon  earth,  but  they  must 
not  be  put  into  unsafe  places,  but  into  safe 
places.  A  most  comforting  doctrine!  He 
had  always  followed  it.  Moths  and  rust  and 
tliieves  had  done  no  harm  to  his  investments. 

John  Weightman's  drooping  eyes  turned 
to  the  next  verse,  at  the  top  of  the  second 
column. 

"But  lay  up  for  yourselves  treasures  in 
heaten." 

Now  what  had  the  Doctor  said  about  that  ? 
34 


THE   MANSION 

How  was  it  to  be  understood — in  what  sense 
— treasures — in  heaven? 

The  book  seemed  to  float  away  from  him. 
The  light  vanished.  He  wondered  dimly 
if  this  could  be  Death,  coming  so  sud 
denly,  so  quietly,  so  irresistibly.  He  strug 
gled  for  a  moment  to  hold  himself  up,  and 
then  sank  slowly  forward  upon  the  table. 
His  head  rested  upon  his  folded  hands.  He 
slipped  into  the  unknown. 

How  long  afterward  conscious  life  re 
turned  to  him  he  did  not  know.  The  blank 
might  have  been  an  hour  or  a  century.  He 
knew  only  that  something  had  happened  in 
the  interval.  What  it  was  he  could  not  tell. 
He  found  great  difficulty  in  catching  the 
thread  of  his  identity  again.  He  felt  that  he 
was  himself;  but  the  trouble  was  to  make 
his  connections,  to  verify  and  place  himself, 
to  know  who  and  where  he  was. 
35 


THE   MANSION 

At  last  it  grew  clear.  John  Weightman 
was  sitting  on  a  stone,  not  far  from  a  road 
in  a  strange  land. 

The  road  was  not  a  formal  highway, 
fenced  and  graded.  It  was  more  like  a 
great  travel-trace,  worn  by  thousands  of 
feet  passing  across  the  open  country  in  the 
same  direction.  Down  in  the  valley,  into 
which  he  could  look,  the  road  seemed  to 
form  itself  gradually  out  of  many  minor 
paths;  little  footways  coming  across  the 
meadows,  winding  tracks  following  along 
beside  the  streams,  faintly  marked  trails 
emerging  from  the  woodlands.  But  on  the 
hillside  the  threads  were  more  firmly  woven 
into  one  clear  band  of  travel,  though  there 
were  still  a  few  dim  paths  joining  it  here  and 
there,  as  if  persons  had  been  climbing  up 
the  hill  by  other  ways  and  had  turned  at  last 
to  seek  the  road. 

From  the  edge  of  the  hill,  where  John 
36 


THE    MANSION 


Weightman  sat,  he  could  see  the  travelers, 
in  little  groups  or  larger  companies,  gather 
ing  from  time  to  time  by  the  different  paths, 
and  making  the  ascent.  They  were  all 
clothed  in  white,  and  the  form  of  their 
garments  was  strange  to  him;  it  was  like 
some  old  picture.  They  passed  him,  group 
after  group,  talking  ^^V  together  or 


singing;  not  moving  in  haste,  but  with  a 
certain  air  of  eagerness  and  joy  as  if  they 
were  glad  to  be  on  their  way  to  an  appointed 
place.  They  did  not  stay  to  speak  to  him, 
but  they  looked  at  him  often  and  spoke  to 
one  another  as  they  looked;  and  now  and 
then  one  of  them  would  smile  and  beckon 
him  a  friendly  greeting,  so  that  he  felt  they 
would  like  him  to  be  with  them. 

There  was  quite  an  interval  between  the 

groups;  and  he  followed  each  of  them  with 

his   eyes    after    it    had    passed,   blanching 

the  long  ribbon  of  the  road  for    a    little 

37 


THE    MANSION 

transient  space,  rising  and  receding  across 
the  wide,  billowy  upland,  among  the  round 
ed  hillocks  of  aerial  green  and  gold  and 
lilac,  until  it  came  to  the  high  horizon,  and 
stood  outlined  for  a  moment,  a  tiny  cloud  of 
whiteness  against  the  tender  blue,  before  it 
vanished  over  the  hill. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there  watching  and 
wondering.  It  was  a  very  different  world 
from  that  in  which  his  mansion  on  the 
Avenue  was  built;  and  it  looked  strange  to 
him,  but  most  real — as  real  as  anything  he 
had  ever  seen.  Presently  he  felt  a  strong 
desire  to  know  what  country  it  was  and 
where  the  people  were  going.  He  had  a 
faint  premonition  of  what  it  must  be,  but  he 
wished  to  be  sure.  So  he  rose  from  the 
stone  where  he  was  sitting,  and  came  down 
through  the  short  grass  and  the  lavender 
flowers,  toward  a  passing  group  of  people. 

One  of  them  turned  to  meet  him,  and  held 
38 


"  Welcome  !    Will  you   come   with   us  ?"         iT^tH 
• 


out  his  hand.  It  was  an  old  man,  under 
whose  white  beard  and  brows  John  Weight- 
man  thought  he  saw  a  suggestion  of  the 
face  of  the  village  doctor  who  had  cared  for 
him  years  ago,  when  he  was  a  boy  in  the 
country. 

"  Welcome/'    said  the  old  man.    "  Will 
you  come  with  us  ?" 

"  Where  are  you  going?" 
39 


THE   MANSION 

"  To  the  heavenly  city,  to  see  oar  man 
sions  there/' 

"  And  who  are  these  with  you?" 

"  Strangers  to  me,  until  a  little  while 
ago;  I  know  them  better  now.  Bat  you  I 
have  known  for  a  long  time,  John  Weight- 
man.  Don't  you  remember  your  old  doc 
tor?" 

*  Yes/'  he  cried — "yes;  your  voice  has 
not  changed  at  all.  I'm  glad  indeed  to  see 
you,  Doctor  McLean,  especially  now.  All 
this  seems  very  strange  to  me,  almost  oppres 
sive.  I  wonder  if — but  may  I  go  with  you, 
do  you  suppose  ?" 

"  Surely,"  answered  the  doctor,  with  his 
familiar  smile;  "  it  will  do  you  good.  And 
you  also  must  have  a  mansion  in  the  city 
waiting  for  you — a  fine  one,  too — are  you  not 
looking  forward  to  it  ?" 

"  Yes,"    replied  the  other,  hesitating  a 

moment;    "  yes — I  believe  it  must  be  so, 
40 


THE    MANSION 

although  I  had  not  expected  to  see  it  so 
soon.  But  I  will  go  with  you,  and  we  can 
talk  by  the  way." 

The  two  men  quickly  caught  up  with  the 
other  people,  and  all  went  forward  together 
along  the  road.  The  doctor  had  little  to 
tell  of  his  experience,  for  it  had  been  a  plain, 
hard  life,  uneventfully  spent  for  others,  and 
the  story  of  the  village  was  very  simple. 
John  Weightman's  adventures  and  triumphs 
would  have  made  a  far  richer,  more  impos 
ing  history,  full  of  contacts  with  the  great 
events  and  personages  of  the  time.  But 
somehow  or  other  he  did  not  care  to  speak 
much  about  it,  walking  on  that  wide  heav 
enly  moorland,  under  that  tranquil,  sunless 
arch  of  blue,  in  that  free  air  of  perfect  peace, 
where  the  light  was  diffused  without  a 
shadow,  as  if  the  spirit  of  life  in  all  things 
were  luminous. 

There  was  only  one  person  besides  the 
41 


That   free   air    of    Perfect    Peace 


doctor  in  that  little  company  whom  John 
Weightman  had  known  before — an  old  book 
keeper  who  had  spent  his  life  over  a  desk, 
carefully  keeping  accounts — a  rusty,  dull 
little  man,  patient  and  narrow,  whose  wife 
had  been  in  the  insane  asylum  for  twenty 
years  and  whose  only  child  was  a  crippled 
daughter,  for  whose  comfort  and  happiness 
he  had  toiled  and  sacrificed  himself  without 
stint.  It  was  a  surprise  to  find  him  here,  as 
care-free  and  joyful  as  the  rest. 

The  lives  of  others  in  the  company  were 
42 


THE    MANSION 

revealed  in  brief  glimpses  as  they  talked 
together — a  mother,  early  widowed,  who 
had  kept  her  little  flock  of  children  together 
and  labored  through  hard  and  heavy  years 
to  bring  them  up  in  purity  and  knowledge — 
a  Sister  of  Charity  who  had  devoted  herself 
to  the  nursing  of  poor  folk  who  were  being 
eaten  to  death  by  cancer — a  schoolmaster 
whose  heart  and  life  had  been  poured  into  his 
quiet  work  of  training  boys  for  a  clean  and 
thoughtful  manhood — a  medical  missionaiy 
who  had  given  up  a  brilliant  career  in  science 
to  take  the  charge  of  a  hospital  in  darkest 
Africa — a  beautiful  woman  with  silver  hair 
who  had  resigned  her  dreams  of  love  and 
marriage  to  care  for  an  invalid  father,  and 
after  his  death  had  made  her  life  a  long, 
steady  search  for  ways  of  doing  kindnesses 
to  others — a  poet  who  had  walked  among 
the  crowded  tenements  of  the  great  city, 
bringing  cheer  and  comfort  not  only  by  his 
43 


THE    MANSION 

songs,  but  by  his  wise  and  patient  works  of 
practical  aid — a  paralyzed  woman  who  had 
Iain  for  thirty  years  upon  her  bed,  helpless 
but  not  hopeless,  succeeding  by  a  miracle  of 
courage  in  her  single  aim,  never  to  complain, 
but  always  to  impart  a  bit  of  her  joy  and 
peace  to  every  one  who  came  near  her.  All 
these,  and  other  persons  like  them,  people 
of  little  consideration  in  the  world,  but  now 
seemingly  all  full  of  great  contentment  and 
an  inward  gladness  that  made  their  steps 
light,  were  in  the  company  that  passed  along 
the  road,  talking  together  of  things  past  and 
things  to  come,  and  singing  now  and  then 
with  clear  voices  from  which  the  veil  of  age 
and  sorrow  was  lifted. 

/"John  Weightman  joined  in  some  of  the 
songs — which  were  familiar  to  him  from  their 
use  in  the  church — at  first  with  a  touch  of 
hesitation,  and  then  more  confidently.  For 
as  they  went  on  his  sense  of  strangeness  and 
44 


THE    MANSION 

fear  at  his  new  experience  diminished, 
his  thoughts  began  to  take  on  their  habitual 
assurance  and  complacency:  Were  not  these 
people  going  to  the  Celestial  City?  And 
was  not  he  in  his  right  place  among  them? 
He  had  always  looked  forward  to  this  jour 
ney.  If  they  were  sure,  each  one,  of  finding 
a  mansion  there,  could  not  he  be  far  more 


sure? yHis  life  had  been  more  fruitful  than 
theirs.  He  had  been  a  leader,  a  founder  of 
new  enterprises,  a  pillar  of  Church  apd  State, 
a  prince  of  the  House  of  IsraeLxT en  talents 
had  been  given  him,  and  he  had  made  them 
twenty.  His  reward  would  be  propor 
tionate.  He  was  glad  that  his  companions 
were  going  to  find  fit  dwellings  prepared  for 
them;  but  he  thought  also  with  a  certain 
pleasure  of  the  surprise  that  some  of  them 
would  feel  when  they  saw  his  appointed 
mansion. 

So  they  came  to  the  summit  of  the  moor- 
45 


THE    MANSION 

land  and  looked  over  into  the  world  beyond. 
It  was  a  vast,  green  plain,  softly  rounded  like 
a  shallow  vase,  and  circled  with  hills  of 
amethyst*  A  broad,  shining  river  flowed 
through  it,  and  many  silver  threads  of  water 
were  woven  across  the  green;  and  there  were 
borders  of  tall  trees  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  orchards  full  of  roses  abloom 
along  the  little  streams,  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  stood  the  city,  white  and  wonderful  and 
radiant. 

When  the  travelers  saw  it  they  were  filled 
with  awe  and  joy.  They  passed  over  the 
little  streams  and  among  the  orchards 
quickly  and  silently,  as  if  they  feared  to 
speak  lest  the  city  should  vanish. 

The  wall  of  the  city  was  very  low,  a  child 
could  see  over  it,  for  it  was  made  only  of 
precious  stones,  which  are  never  large.  The 
gate  of  the  city  was  not  like  a  gate  at  all, 

for  it  was  not  barred  with  iron  or  wood,  but 
46 


THE    MANSION 

only  a  single  pearl,  softly  gleaming,  marked 
the  place  where  the  wall  ended  and  the  en 
trance  lay  open. 

A  person  stood  there  whose  face  was 
bright  and  grave,  and  whose  robe  was  like 
the  flower  of  the  lily,  not  a  woven  fabric,  but 
a  living  texture.  "  Come  in,"  he  said  to 
the  company  of  travelers;  "  you  are  at  your 
journey's  end,  and  your  mansions  are  ready 
for  you." 

John  Weightman  hesitated,  for  he  was 
troubled  by  a  doubt.  Suppose  that  he  was 
not  really,  like  his  companions,  at  his  jour 
ney's  end,  but  only  transported  for  a  little 
while  out  of  the  regular  course  of  his  life 
into  this  mysterious  experience?  Suppose 
that,  after  all,  he  had  not  really  passed 
through  the  door  of  death,  like  these  others, 
but  only  through  the  door  of  dreams,  and 
was  walking  in  a  vision,  a  living  man  among 

the  blessed  dead.    Would  it  be  right  for  him 
4  47 


THE    MANSION 

to  go  with  them  into  the  heavenly  city? 
Would  it  not  be  a  deception,  a  desecra 
tion,  a  deep  and  unforgivable  offense  ?  The 
strange,  confusing  question  had  no  reason 
in  it,  as  he  very  well  knew;  for  if  he  was 
dreaming,  then  it  was  all  a  dream;  but  if  his 
companions  were  real,  then  he  also  was  with 
them  in  reality,  and  if  they  had  died  then 
he  must  have  died  too.  Yet  he  could  not 
rid  his  mind  of  the  sense  that  there  was  a 
difference  between  them  and  him,  and  it 
made  him  afraid  to  go  on.  But,  as  he 
paused  and  turned,  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate 
looked  straight  and  deep  into  his  eyes,  and 
beckoned  to  him.  Then  he  knew  that  it 
was  not  only  right  but  necessary  that  he 
should  enter. 

They  passed  from  street  to  street  among 
fair  and  spacious  dwellings,  set  in  amaran 
thine   gardens,   and   adorned   with   an   in 
finitely  varied  beauty  of  divine  simplicity. 
48 


THE    MANSION 

The  mansions  differed  in  size,  in  shape,  in 
charm:  each  one  seemed  to  have  its  own 
personal  look  of  loveliness;  yet  all  were 
alike  in  fitness  to  their  place,  in  harmony 
with  one  another,  in  the  addition  which  each 
made  to  the  singular  and  tranquil  splendor 
of  the  city. 

As  the  little  company  came,  one  by  one,  to 
the  mansions  which  were  prepared  for  them, 
and  their  Guide  beckoned  to  the  happy 
inhabitant  to  enter  in  and  take  possession, 
there  was  a  soft  murmur  of  joy,  half  wonder 
and  half  recognition;  as  if  the  new  and 
immortal  dwelling  were  crowned  with  the 
beauty  of  surprise,  lovelier  and  nobler  than 
all  the  dreams  of  it  had  been;  and  yet  also 
as  if  it  were  touched  with  the  beauty  of 
the  familiar,  the  remembered,  the  long- 
loved.  One  after  another  the  travelers  were 
led  to  their  own  mansions,  and  went  in 
gladly;  and  from  within,  through  the  open 
49 


THE    MANSION 

doorways,  came  sweet  voices  of  welcome, 
and  low  laughter,  and  song. 

At  last  there  was  no  one  left  with  the 
Guide  but  the  two  old  friends.  Doctor  Mc 
Lean  and  John  Weightman.  They  were 
standing  in  front  of  one  of  the  largest  and 
fairest  of  the  houses,  whose  garden  glowed 
softly  with  radiant  flowers.  The  Guide  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  doctor's  shoulder. 

"  This  is  for  you,"  he  said.  "  Go  in; 
there  is  no  more  pain  here,  no  more  death, 
nor  sorrow,  nor  tears;  for  your  old  enemies 
are  all  conquered.  But  all  the  good  that 
you  have  done  for  others,  all  the  help  that 
you  have  given,  all  the  comfort  that  you 
have  brought,  all  the  strength  and  love  that 
you  have  bestowed  upon  the  suffering,  are 
here;  for  we  have  built  them  all  into  this 
mansion  for  you." 

The  good  man's  face  was  lighted  with 
a  still  joy.  He  clasped  his  old  friend's  hand 
50 


THE    MANSION 

closely,  and  whispered:  "How  wonderful 
it  is!  Go  on,  you  will  come  to  your  mansion 
next,  it  is  not  far  away,  and  we  shall  see 
each  other  again  soon,  very  soon/' 

So  he  went  through  the  garden,  and  into 
the  music  within.  The  Keeper  of  the  Gate 
turned  to  John  Weightman  with  level,  quiet, 
searching  eyes.  Then  he  asked,  gravely: 

"  Where  do  you  wish  me  to  lead  you 
now?" 

'*  To  see  my  own  mansion/'  answered  the 
man,  with  half-concealed  excitement.  "  Is 
there  not  one  here  for  me?  You  may  not 
let  me  enter  it  yet,  perhaps,  for  I  must  con 
fess  to  you  that  I  am  only — " 

"  I  know/'  said  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate — 
"  I  know  it  all.  You  are  John  Weightman/' 

'  Yes,"  said  the  man,  more  firmfy  than 
he  had  spoken  at  first,  for  it  gratified  him 
that  his  name  was  known.  '*  Yes,  I  am 
John  Weightman,  Senior  Warden  of  St, 


THE    MANSION 

Petronius'  Church.  I  wish  very  much  to  see 
my  mansion  here,  if  only  for  a  moment.  I 
believe  that  you  have  one  for  me.  Will  you 
take  me  to  it?" 

The  Keeper  of  the  Gate  drew  a  little  book 
from  the  breast  of  his  robe  and  turned  over 
the  pages. 

"  Certainly/'  he  said,  with  a  curious  look 
at  the  man,  "  your  name  is  here;  and  you 
shall  see  your  mansion  if  you  will  follow 

it 

me. 

It  seemed  as  if  they  must  have  walked 
miles  and  miles,  through  the  vast  city,  pass 
ing  street  after  street  of  houses  larger  and 
smaller,  of  gardens  richer  and  poorer,  but  all 
full  of  beauty  and  delight.  They  came  into 
a  kind  of  suburb,  where  there  were  many 
small  cottages,  with  plots  of  flowers,  very 
lowly,  but  bright  and  fragrant.  Finally 
they  reached  an  open  field,  bare  and  lonely- 
looking.  There  were  two  or  three  little 
52 


THE    MANSION 

bashes  in  it,  without  flowers,  and  the  grass 
was  sparse  and  thin.  In  the  center  of  the 
field  was  a  tiny  hut,  hardly  big  enough  for  a 
shepherd's  shelter.  It  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  built  of  discarded  things,  scraps  and 
fragments  of  other  buildings,  put  together 
with  care  and  pains,  by  some  one  who  had 
tried  to  make  the  most  of  cast-off  material. 
There  was  something  pitiful  and  shamefaced 
about  the  hut.  It  shrank  and  drooped  and 
faded  in  its  barren  field,  and  seemed  to 
cling  only  by  sufferance  to  the  edge  of  the 
splendid  city. 

"This,"  said  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate, 
standing  still  and  speaking  with  a  low, 
distinct  voice — "  this  is  your  mansion,  John 
Weightman." 

An  almost  intolerable  shock  of  grieved 
wonder  and  indignation  choked  the  man  for 
a  moment  so  that  he  could  not  say  a  word. 

Then  he  turned  his  face  away  from  the  poor 
53 


THE    MANSION 

little  hut  and  began  to  remonstrate  eagerly 
with  his  companion* 

**  Surely,  sir/'  he  stammered.  "  you  must 
be  in  error  about  this.  There  is  something 
wrong — some  other  John  Weightman — a 
confusion  of  names  —  the  book  must  be 
mistaken." 

"  There  is  no  mistake/'  said  the  Keeper 
of  the  Gate,  very  calmly;  "  here  is  your 
name,  the  record  of  your  title  and  your 
possessions  in  this  place." 

44  But  how  could  such  a  house  be  prepared 
for  me/'  cried  the  man,  with  a  resentful 
tremor  in  his  voice — '*  for  me,  after  my  long 
and  faithful  service?  Is  this  a  suitable 
mansion  for  one  so  well  known  and  devoted  ? 
Why  is  it  so  pitifully  small  and  mean  ?  Why 
have  you  not  built  it  large  and  fair,  like  the 
others?" 

44  That  is  all  the  material  you  sent  us." 

4t  What!" 

54 


THE    MANSION 

"  We  have  used  all  the  material  that  you 
sent  us,"  repeated  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate. 

"  Now  I  know  that  you  are  mistaken/' 
cried  the  man,  with  growing  earnestness, 
44  for  all  my  life  long  I  have  been  doing  things 
that  must  have  supplied  you  with  material. 
Have  you  not  heard  that  I  have  built  a 
school-house;  the  wing  of  a  hospital;  two — 
yes,  three — small  churches,  and  the  greater 
part  of  a  large  one,  the  spire  of  St.  Petro — 

The  Keeper  of  the  Gate  lifted  his  hand. 

"  Wait,"  he  said;  "  we  know  all  these 
things.  They  were  not  ill  done.  But 
they  were  all  marked  and  used  as  founda 
tion  for  the  name  and  mansion  of  John 
Weightman  in  the  world.  Did  you  not  plan 
them  for  that?"  ^ 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man,  confused  and 

taken  aback,  "  I  confess  that  I  thought  often 

of  them  in  that  way.     Perhaps  my  heart  was 

set  upon  that  too  much.    But  there  are 

55 


THE    MANSION 

other  things — my  endowment  for  the  col 
lege — my  steady  and  liberal  contributions 
to  all  the  established  charities — my  support 
of  every  respectable— 

x^'Wait,"  said  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate 
again.  '*  Were  not  all  these  carefully  re 
corded  on  earth  where  they  would  add  to 
your  credit  ?  They  were  not  foolishly  done. 
Verily,  you  have  had  your  reward  for  them. 
Would  you  be  paid  twice  ?" 

*'  No/'  cried  the  man,  with  deepening 
dismay,  "  I  dare  not  claim  that.  I  acknowl 
edge  that  I  considered  my  own  interest  too 
much.  But  surely  not  altogether.  You 
have  said  that  these  things  were  not  foolish 
ly  done.  They  accomplished  some  good  in 
the  world.  Does  not  that  count  for  some 
thing?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate, 
"it  counts  in  the  world — where  you  counted 
it.     BtiHt  does  not  belong  to  you  here.    We 
56 


THE    MANSION 

have  saved  and  used  everything  that  you  sent 
jjs.  This  is  the  mansion  prepared  for  you." 

As  he  spoke,  his  look  grew  deeper  and  more 
searching,  like  a  flame  of  fire.  John  Weight- 
man  could  not  endure  it.  It  seemed  to  strip 
him  naked  and  wither  him.  He  sank  to  the 
ground  under  a  crushing  weight  of  shame, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  cower 
ing  face  downward  upon  the  stones.  Dimly 
through  the  trouble  of  his  mind  he  felt  their 
hardness  and  coldness. 

44  Tell  me,  then/'  he  cried,  brokenly, 
44  since  my  life  has  been  so  little  worth,  how 
came  I  here  at  all  ?" 

"  Through  the^nej£3L-oLthe  King" — the 
answer  was  like  the  soft  tolling  of  a  bell. 

"And  how  have  I  earned  it  ?"  he  murmured. 

44  It  is  never  earned;  it  is  only  given," 
came  the  clear,  low  reply. 

"  But  how  have  I  failed  so  wretchedly," 
he  asked,  44  in  all  the  purpose  of  my  life  ? 
57 


THE   MANSION 

What  could  I  have  done  better?    What  is  it 
that  counts  here  ?" 

"  Only  that  which  is  truly  given,"  an 
swered  the  bell-like  voice.  Only  that  good 
which  is  done  for  the  love  of  doing  it.  Only 
those  plans  in  which  the  welfare  of  others  is 
the  master  thought.  Only  those  labors  in 
which  the  sacrifice  is  greater  than  the  re 
ward.  Only  those  gifts  in  which  the  giver 
forgets  himself." 

The  man  lay  silent.  A  great  weakness, 
an  unspeakable  despondency  and  humilia 
tion  were  upon  him.  But  the  face  of  the 
Keeper  of  the  Gate  was  infinitely  tender  as 
he  bent  over  him. 

14  Think  again,  John  Weightman.  Has 
there  been  nothing  like  that  in  your  life  ?" 

*'  Nothing,"  he  sighed.  "  If  there  ever 
were  such  things,  it  must  have  been  long 
ago — they  were  all  crowded  out — I  have 
forgotten  them." 

58 


THE    MANSION 

There  was  an  ineffable  smile  on  the  face 
of  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate,  and  his  hand 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  bowed 
head  as  he  spoke  gently: 

4<  These  are  the  things  that  the  King  never 
forgets;  and  because  there  were  a  few  of  them 
in  your  life,  you  have  a  little  place  here." 

The  sense  of  coldness  and  hardness  under 
John  Weightman's  hands  grew  sharper  and 
more  distinct.  The  feeling  of  bodily  weari 
ness  and  lassitude  weighed  upon  him,  but 
there  was  a  calm,  almost  a  lightness,  in  his 
heart  as  he  listened  to  the  fading  vibrations 
of  the  silvery  bell-tones.  The  chimney  clock 
on  the  mantel  had  just  ended  the  last  stroke 
of  seven  as  he  lifted  his  head  from  the  table. 
Thin,  pale  strips  of  the  city  morning  were 
falling  into  the  room  through  the  narrow 
partings  of  the  heavy  curtains. 

What  was  it  that  had  happened  to  him? 
59 


THE   MANSION 

Had  he  been  ill?  Had  he  died  and  come 
to  life  again?  Or  had  he  only  slept,  and 
had  his  soul  gone  visiting  in  dreams?  He 
sat  for  some  time,  motionless,  not  lost,  but 
finding  himself  in  thought.  Then  he  took 
a  narrow  book  from  the  table  drawer,  wrote 
a  check,  and  tore  it  out. 

He  went  slowly  op  the  stairs,  knocked 
very  softly  at  his  son's  door,  and,  hearing  no 
answer,  entered  without  noise.  Harold  was 
asleep,  his  bare  arm  thrown  above  his  head, 
and  his  eager  face  relaxed  in  peace.  His 
father  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  strange 
ly  shining  eyes,  and  then  tiptoed  quietly  to 
the  writing-desk,  found  a  pencil  and  a  sheet 
of  paper,  and  wrote  rapidly: 

"  My  dear  boy,  here  is  what  you  asked 
me  for;  do  what  you  like  with  it,  and  ask  for 
more  if  you  need  it.  If  you  are  still  thinking 
of  that  work  with  Grenfell,  we'll  talk  it  over 
to-day  after  church.  I  want  to  know  your 
60 


"  God  give  us    a  good  Christmas  together  " 


heart   better;    and   if   I   have   made   mis 
takes—" 

A  slight  noise  made  him  turn  his  head. 
Harold  was  sitting  up  in  bed  with  wide- 
open  eyes. 

"  Father!"  he  cried,  "  is  that  you?" 
'*  Yest  my  son/'  answered  John  Weight- 
man;  "  I've  come  back — I  mean  I've  come 
up — no,  I  mean  come  in — well,  here  I  am, 
and  God  give  us  a  good  Christmas  together." 


THE  END 


000  824 


